And It All Came Tumbling Down
by DreamWeaver529
Summary: As Mr. Gold recovers from injuries he got while saving her life, Rebecca fights to understand her feelings for a man she hardly knows, and Gold fights to keep his distance from the girl that both is and isn't his beloved Belle. Set after S1:E12 Skin Deep
1. Prolog

**The picture I am using for a cover image is derived from a photo titled "Tumbling down the steep valley side to Ponts Mill." Copyright Rod Allday and licensed for reuse under the Attribution 2 Creative Commons License.**

o~o~o~o~o

The slab of ceiling and plaster that balanced precariously above Rebecca groaned menacingly. Dust filled the little triangle of space that was all that was between her and being crush to death by the house that was collapsing around her. She shivered, too terrified to move. Her arms where wrapped around her knees, holding them tight to her chest. One false move and it would all come down around her head.

"Rebecca! Come on, you have to move," a woman screamed from her right. She fought to turn her head to see the Mayor calling to her from the ragged edge of her trap. Her voice made the dust that filled the air dance and whirl around her head. Regina motioned her to come towards her, "Come this way, hurry. The whole place is coming down! It's just five feet. Come on."

She couldn't. She couldn't move. She couldn't possibly crawl five feet. Five feet! It looked like five miles. She turned her face away, her eyes tightly closed. A whisper called to her, made her open her eyes. Staring at her, his hand outstretched across the space between them, Mr. Gold whispered, "Please."

She looked from Mr. Gold to Regina and back again. Those were her choices. Who did she trust with her life?

The woman who had been her advocate and supporter since arranging for her to leave her psychiatric prison cell. Who had been kind to her, taken her under her wing. Helped her start to adjust to the loud, bright, fast world Rebecca found herself in. The woman who had helped her find a home, a job, and the beginnings of a life. The woman who now leaned towards, but not into, the hole Rebecca found herself trapped in.

Or the man who everyone had warned her against. Who used and manipulated people. Went out of his way to make other's lives, especially Ragina's, as hard as possible. Who had beaten Rebecca's own father so severely he had spent weeks in the hospital. The man who had been so cold to her, turning from her at every opportunity. The man who was now reaching for her. His arm outstretched in the space between them. His body pressed as far as it could get into the hole. His shoulders braced against the plaster as if his strength alone could hold the ceiling at bay. Whose teeth were bared with the effort to get to her. Whose eyes were full of determination and assurance, yet with an undercurrent of desperation and fear. Whose chest heaved with every breath as he fought to reach her.

There was no choice, really. With more strength than she thought she still possessed, she leaned over and reached out. Gold's strong hand immediately gripped hers. She was as much pulled as scrambled out of the hole. She heard Regina scream behind her, heard what sounded like fists hitting wood, but she didn't-couldn't-look back.

As she cleared the debris, Mr. Gold pulled her against his chest. They sat there for a long moment, just swaying, his arms locked around her, her face in his chest. She didn't know if he was rocking her, or she was rocking him.

With a loud grown and crack, the tunnel she had been huddling in collapsed, sending more building material raining down around them. Gold threw Rebecca to the floor, covering her body with his. Arms wrapped around her head, shoulders hunched over her, he took the brunt of the falling debris.

His hair brushed her forehead, his breath on her neck. She huddled beneath him, instinctively seeking the shelter he provided. She stayed that way, even after the rumbling subsided, her eyes tightly closed, suppressed sobs shaking her body.

"Look at me, love," Gold said, his voice little more than a breath, his finger running lightly from her forehead to her jaw. Only then did she open her eyes. "Are you alright?"

She nodded as her eyes took in his face. Gone was the mask he always wore, full of snide superiority. His eyes radiated concern, and…something warmer. His lips, no longer pressed into a thin line, were full. Rebecca's eyes came to rest on a bloody gash above his left eye that ran from his hair line to his eyebrow. The hair that normally fell into his eyes stuck to the clotting blood.

"You're hurt!" Rebecca said, her hand reaching out to the wound.

"It's just a scratch," he said as he turned his face from her, pulling away. He cut her off when she started to disagree, pushing himself further from her, "We need to get you out of here."

Rebecca bit her lower lip, as much to keep herself from crying out at the loss of his closeness and warmth, as to stop herself from arguing further. She simply nodded as she pushed herself to her knees. She heard Gold let out a hard breath and followed his gaze to his cane. It lay on the floor next to them, snapped in half by a falling beam.

As he looked around, probably for something to replace it with, Rebecca moved towards him. Pulling his arm over her shoulders, she fit herself against his side and helped him stand up. He stared down at her for a moment, his normal mask almost, but not quite, slipping back into place.

"You said something about getting out of here?" she said, her voice a little wobbly, but her eyes didn't waver from his.

"Indeed," he said, and he scanned the room around them. Rebecca did the same. They were in the basement. The cellar doors were on the other side of the collapsed ceiling. The door to the rest of the house lay behind another pile of debris, its stairs in splinters at the base. Desperately, Rebecca looked for another way out. All she saw was a small window, set high in the wall.

Mr. Gold must have seen it too, because he pointed in that direction, "There."

Rebecca nodded. She kept her eyes on the ground as they picked their way through the pieces of the house that littered the floor.

When they reached the wall, Gold placed his hand on the cement and stretched himself to his full height to see out the little window. With efficient movements, he flicked open the lock and pushed the window open, before turning to her. "Up you go."

Rebecca gave him a quick nod, and turned to the window. It was high, so high she doubted even if she jumped she'd be able to make it. But she had to try. Placing both hands on the lip of the window, she gathered her strength to push herself up. She felt a light brush on her calf and turned. Mr. Gold had braced himself against the wall and was leaning over, his fingers laced together to offer her a boost up.

"Thank you," she said, smiling warmly at him.

"Come on," he said, gesturing towards the window with his head, "The house won't stand forever."

Nodding again, she placed her foot in his hands and pushed herself through the window and onto the little garden outside. She crawled on her hands and knees as fast as she could onto the grass beyond the recently turned earth.

She looked back over her shoulder, expecting to see Mr. Gold following closely behind. It was only when he still hadn't appeared after she'd collapsed onto the ground that she realized that with his bad leg he couldn't make it through the window unaided any more than she would have been able to.

Rebecca pushed herself up. She took a step back towards the window, planning on reaching in and pulling him bodily through if necessary. Suddenly, the rest of the house began to come down.

An anguished cry escaped her throat as she threw herself toward the window. Strong arms grabbed her from behind, holding her back. She fought them, tears running down her face, "Let me go! I have to help him. He's still in there!"

The owner of the arms didn't listen. And Rebecca watched helplessly as the house fell in upon itself.

o~o~o~o~o

Gold leaned heavily against the wall as Rebecca disappeared through the window. He stopped forcing his lungs to take air in orderly waves and let his breath come in ragged gasps. Pain tore at him. His ruined knee screamed at him for all he had put it through over the last twenty-four hours. His back and ribs throbbed from where something had hit him as the tiny tunnel his beauty had been hiding in had collapsed.

A shutter ran through him as he thought about how close he had come to watching her die before his eyes. If she had hesitated for a minute more he would have lost her. Again. Though he suspected Regina had accelerated the collapse when she realized that she had lost her little game of tug-of-war. Not that Gold had been playing. For him, this was no game.

Letting his breath hiss out from between his clenched teeth, Gold put his back to the wall and slid to the floor. His knee was so stiff he had to use both hands to lay his leg out in front of him. Resting his head against the cement he closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable. There was no escape for him. But then, there never had been. Not really.

But she was alive and well, and the favor he had finally called in from Sheriff Swan would insure she stayed that way. He didn't fight the memories, like he normally did. He let them fill his mind. His heart. At least he had gotten to see her again. Hold her close and smell her hair. Touch her face and see her smile. He wished he'd been able to kiss her. One real kiss. But it wouldn't have been right. She wasn't his Belle. Not really. She didn't love him. Didn't even know him.

But she lived. And that was enough. It had to be.

He felt the house begin to shake apart around him. He clung to the image of her smiling up at him and waited for the blackness to claim him.

o~o~o~o~o

_Okay, now you have to make a decision. Should I mark it as Complete, making it my very first one-shot? Or do I continue the story to its eventual Happy Ever After conclusion. Emphasis on the eventual._

_Things you should know before you decide you want me to continue:_

_ - I am a helpless romantic, so there will be a Happily Ever After (or close enough to it)_

_ - I am, however, known as The Queen of Angst among my friends, so the road won't be smooth for these two, both have a lot of growing to do_

_ - I love to read and write spicy stories, however I will do my best to keep the version posted here in the 'T' category, and have the Adults Only version available somewhere else_

_Your call people. Let me know._


	2. Chapter 1: Searching

**A/N: Okay, the masses have spoken, I will continue. Thank you for all your praise. I will do my best not to disappoint.**

**In point of fact, it was the comment of one of the reviewers (StupidGord) that made me realize that I should write the chapter that is to follow. I have much of another one done, but that will have to wait while till next time. **

**While there won't be as much Rumbelle in this chapter as I would like, it should answer some questions and fill in some gaps. But I promise, thought out the story I'll keep the non-Rumbelle stuff to a minimum.**

**As for time-line, at this point I'm figuring it goes AU after Skin Deep, and the current date is between Memorial Day and Independence Day. So there's a gap of about four or five months.**

**I would also like to take this opportunity to thank FortunesArkHero for proof-reading for me. Trust me when I tell you, this is as big a favor to you, the reader, as it is to me, the writer. Enjoy.**

* * *

><p>"Thanks," Emma said to the Fire Chief watched him jog off to the edge of the collapsed house. Over the last hour the house had settled to the point that it was safe to send in limited search and rescue.<p>

She looked around her at the controlled chaos that had taken over the lawn. The flashing lights of the fire truck, the ambulance, and her squad car, together with disjointed line of their headlights added to the feeling of turmoil. Most of the town had gathered on the side walk and in the road, with a few of the men on the lawn to give their assistance to the rescue if needed.

Emma had had to shoo Sidney Glass of the property shortly after she had arrived. He was remarkably good at being in just the right place to be in the way. Now he stood halfway across the road, apparently framing a shot to capture both the collapsed house and the sign that flanked the walk. Emma supposed a picture on the front page of _The Daily Mirror _was one way to tell everyone that _Storybrooke's House of Books,_ the only book store in town, would be closed for the foreseeable future. Well, anyone that wasn't currently standing around.

"Hey, Emma," Mary Margaret called as she walks towards her, the teacher's arms wrapped around her middle, "Anything yet?"

Emma shook her head, her eyes going to the young woman Mary Margaret just left sitting at the base of a large tree. Mary Margaret's coat was draped around her shoulders, and while she held the edges shut in front of her, she didn't show any other sign of being aware of where she was. Her eyes remained fixed on the window she fought Emma so hard to get back to as the house came down.

It had been all Emma could do to keep her from going back into the house, even as it came down. It hadn't been hard to figure out someone was still inside. It had taken a bit more time to get enough out of the girl to realize that it was Mr. Gold she had been fighting so hard to get back to.

_Curiouser and curiouser_, Emma thought to herself. Those two hadn't seemed particularly friendly, and yet the girl had been willing to be severely hurt, if not killed, to save him. And then there was the note she had found tucked under the wiper blade of her squad car.

She had grabbed the piece of paper off the windshield as she rushed to respond to the call about the collapsing house. She almost hadn't read it. But she had caught the sight of what looked like blood. The words were obviously scrawled in haste, but the underlying handwriting was elegant. And the message was simple:

Swan,

The favor you owe me: Protect Rebecca French – Keep her safe. Especially from Regina.

Gold

Emma had glanced at it more than once on the mad drive across town. For some reason her eyes kept coming back to the first letter of Rebecca's name. It was the messiest character, almost as if Gold had started to wright something else, a B maybe, before changing his mind.

Emma's hand moved to her back pocket where she had stuck the note. She had the feeling it was going to turn out to be important. For what she wasn't quite sure. Not yet, anyway.

"Well," Mary Margaret said, pulling Emma's attention back to her, "I called Dr. Hopper. I think she's going to need him."

"Good idea," Emma said. It was common knowledge that Rebecca had been seeing the doctor since she had been released from the psychiatric wing of the hospital. What wasn't well known is why she had been there in the first place. All Emma knew was the rumors. The most sensation of which was that she had gotten involved with the wrong crowd in high school and ended up killing her boyfriend. Emma seriously doubted that story. She doubted the girl could hurt a fly. But even after multiple searches through the archives, Emma had yet to find any mention of the girl at all. Not even a birth certificate. Let alone a file that explained why she had been locked away for as long as anyone could remember.

"No, I'm fine!" The mayor's voice carried over the noise. Both Emma and Mary Margaret turned to look. Regina sat in the back of the ambulance, an emergency blanket draped around her. An ambulance tech stood beside her, an oxygen mask in his hand.

"I should probably go talk to her," Emma said.

Mary Margaret lifted an eyebrow at her, "Good luck."

Emma smiled and headed for the ambulance.

"Madam Mayor," she said, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

"Sheriff Swan," Regina said, her voice dripping with her normal malice, "What is going on?"

Emma sighed, "I was about to ask you the same thing."

"Me?" the mayor said, putting one hand to her chest, "What makes you think I know anything?"

Fighting the urge to shake the woman, Emma kept her voice calm, "I don't know, maybe the fact that you came crawling out of the cellar doors as I arrived."

Regina gave her a sower look. Which Emma had to admit was her usual expression. "I was visiting my friend, Miss French, when the house started to come down."

"Visiting?" Emma asked.

"Yes, Sheriff Swan, visiting. I'm sure you've heard of it. It occurs when two or more friends gather together to converse."

"So," Emma said, drawing the world out, "You were 'conversing' when the house just stared to fall in?"

"Precisely," the mayor said, the look on her face daring Emma to contradict her.

"Okay, then," Emma said and turned to go back to Rebecca. Maybe the girl would be up to talking now.

"Sheriff Swan," Regain called out before Emma took more than a step.

"Yes?" Emma asked, turning back towards the mayor.

"How is Rebecca?" Regain ask. Emma guessed that the concern in her voice would have convinced most people that she really cared. Emma didn't buy it. Her mind flashed back to Gold's note.

"She's safe, Madam Mayor," she said, and then added to herself, _Even from you._

And Emma had every intention on keeping her that way. As much as to keep her promise as because now she was curious.

o~o~o~o~o

Rebecca stared at the house that had been her home and workplace for the last few months. _And almost my grave._

Panic boiled up inside of her. Her mind returning to the tight little space. The feeling of being trapped washed over her. She was going to die. Her home, her safe place, was going to kill her.

Her breath came in short gasps, the air hardly entering her lungs before being forced out again. She had to get away. She had to get somewhere safe. But where?

"Sweetie," Mary Margaret said from her side, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, "Are you okay?"

Rebecca barely heard her. Where was safe? There was nowhere left. Her safety had fallen in on itself. Her life had fallen in on itself. The only place left was her cell. God, she didn't want to go back there. But where else was there?

"Rebecca," Dr. Hopper said. Rebecca looked up to find him crouching in front of her. He reached out and gently cupped both shoulders in his warm hands. "I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay? Put your hand on your abdomen and push it out for me. Can you do that?"

Rebecca nodded and leaned back against the tree. With her hand on her stomach, she took a shaky breath, but made sure to use her diaphragm to do it.

"One, two, three, four, five," Dr. Hopper counted slowly as she breathed in, "Good. Hold. Now breath out. One, two, three, four, five. Again. One, two, three, four, five. Hold, two. Out, one, two, three, four, five."

Rebecca sighed as the let the last of the deep breath out and let her breathing return to normal. It shuttered a little, but she wasn't hyperventilating anymore.

"How do you feel?" Dr. Hopper asked.

She took a moment before answering honestly, "I don't know."

"I'll give you guys some privacy," Mary Margret said, starting to stand.

"No," Rebecca said, putting her hand over the other woman's where it rested on her arm, "It's okay, you don't have to go."

"Okay," Mary Margret said, giving her a friendly smile, before sitting back down. She leaned towards Rebecca and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"I know how you feel," Dr. Hopper said. Rebecca looked back at him, skeptical. It must have shown on her face, because he continued, "I didn't exactly know how I felt when I was trapped in the mines this fall with Henry. I felt a lot of things, conflicting things, even after we were safe."

Rebecca's eyes went back to edge of the collapsed house where the rescue works were so terribly slowly shifting through the rubble, "At least both of you got out of there alive."

Dr. Hopper half turned, "Is someone still in there?"

Rebecca swallowed a sob, unable to answer. Luckily, Mary Margret did it for her, "Yeah. Mr. Gold. He helped her out, but…"

Burying her head in her hands, Rebecca fought back another wave of panic.

Dr. Hopper turned back to her, and gently pushed her back into a sitting position, "Rebecca, I need you to breath."

Rebecca focused on her breathing, her hand going back to her stomach. She had learned the breathing exercise, along with other coping mechanisms, during her visits to Dr. Hopper's office. It was almost habitual now. Good, healthy habits were the keys to success. At least that was what he was always telling her. _Panic Disorder with Agoraphobia_. It was a mouthful of a diagnosis. But considering that six months ago she could scarcely remember a life outside her ten by ten cell, it was much better than it could have been.

She'd even managed the walk to Dr. Hopper's office these last few weeks without the need to lock herself in the bathroom when she got there to pull herself together. A trip to the grocery store was planned for next week. Her first big outing. She had been so looking forward to not being as reliant on Emma or Mary Margret to do her shopping for her.

Before she could get too deep into trying to figure out her near future, and more than likely throw herself into another panic attack, there was a shout from the house.

"We've got something!" Rebecca didn't recognize the voice. She froze, her lower lip between her teeth.

"Breath, Rebecca," Dr. Hopper said gently. She forced air into her lungs, her entire being focused on the rescue workers that were now moving a lot quicker. She fought to make words out of the muttering that followed, barely noticing the ambulance workers running up to the edge of the building.

"He's got a pulse," it was David's voice this time coming from within the fallen house, "Get the back board in here."

Though she knew it was only a few minutes, it seemed like hours before several men working together lifted the yellow board from the gap in the wall a few feet from the window she had crawled out of.

Without thinking, Rebecca was on her feet, running towards the dust covered form. All she could think was, _He's not moving._

Emma caught her again, but this time Rebecca didn't have the energy to fight her. Instead, she collapsed into the other woman, her eyes never leaving Mr. Gold as they lowered the recue board onto the portable stretcher.

Only when someone got in her line of sight did she look up. David was standing in front of them, covered in dust, a scratch on his cheek. Mary Margret came up beside him, her hand going to his arm, her eyes full of concern.

"How is he?" Emma asked.

"Lucky," he said, looking over his shoulder, his hand reaching out to rest on Mary Margret's waist, "He's pretty beat up. A beam came down over him, probably broke some stuff. But he's breathing."

A shuddering sob went through Rebecca. Her mind all too easily picturing him buried beneath a pile of broken house, a beam crushing his chest.

"Why don't I give you a lift to the hospital," Emma said gently as she shifted her grip on Rebecca for one that was holding her up, to one that would help her walk.

Rebecca nodded and heard Dr. Hopper ask, "Mind if I tag along?"

"Not at all," Emma said as she stared to guide Rebecca towards the road, "But you'll have to ride in the back of the squad car."

If Dr. Hopper made a reply, Rebecca didn't hear him. It took all her effort to keep moving forward towards the gathered crowd. She wanted to bolt and run for parts unknown.

But she had nowhere to go. And this was the quickest way to get to the hospital. And she had to make sure he would be alright.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Agoraphobia is anxiety disorder. Three million people in the United States alone suffer from this disorder. In real life there is treatment, but no magic cure. Not even true love's kiss can magically make any anxiety disorder just go away. But Storybrooke isn't real life.**

**I'm putting this out there up front, because I don't want to hurt or offend anyone. I also want to make it very clear that I have nothing but respect and admiration for everyone who has an anxiety or panic disorder and yet finds a way to continue to face life. I have seen how therapy, determination, and strength can change a person's life. And I know it is never easy to find that strength and determination or the courage to get help.**

**However, as it is a story, and I am not a psychologist or a psychiatrist, I will probably be easier on Rebecca/Belle than I should be. This will either be in interest of moving the story along in the direction I want, and/or my lack of knowledge about agoraphobia and its treatment. I by no means wish to trivialize anyone's struggle and hard work. I only want to present one person's struggle with dignity and respect. If I fail in my quest, and/or you feel the need to comment on my handling of the issue, please PM me.**

**That being said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I hope post about once a week. And as it stands now, we should be getting back to some more Rumbelle intensive stuff shortly.**


	3. Chapter 2: Waking

He was floating. Totally weightless and free of pain. No acid burn of Dark Magic in his blood. No fire ball lodged in his ruined knee. He was free of it all. Free of the pain of both worlds. He sighed, perfectly content to just be. If this was death, it was better than he expected. Better than he deserved.

Slowly, the fog that surrounded him began to dissipate. He still floated, but his body came back to him. Coalesced around him. There was still no pain, but sensation returned. His right arm heavy, and damp. He couldn't feel air against his skin, only heat. His left arm was restrained, pressed too tightly to his chest, from shoulder to elbow. His right leg, too, was confined, rods running down both the inside and out, forcing his knee to bend slightly. He frowned, and the moment pulled on a cloth tightly wound around his head. With each breath he could feel more pulling on his chest belly and shoulders. He was…bandaged? Did the dead need bandages?

It took him a moment for him to be able to force his eyes open. The world around him was white and bright, and filled with an odd beeping and humming. He blinked a few times, but his current view could give him no useful information.

A light sigh and the whisper of cloth on cloth caught his attention. He rolled his head to the left and saw a sight that couldn't possibly be. Not here, not Maine. Not so far and so long from the Dark Castle.

Belle was curled up in his favorite black leather chair, a tome open in her lap. The lone candelabra's light played in her hair, making his fingers itch to trace each strand. Her head rested against the back of the chair, her lips relaxed in sleep. She had carelessly kicked off her shoes to tuck her feet under her, her stoking feet hidden under her skirt. How many times had he found her like then when he had finely ventured out of his tower late at night? How many times had he gone to her on silent feet to put the book aside, gather her close, and carry her to her bed? How many times had he tucked her in, brushing a curl behind her ear ever so gently, and then retreated to her door, only to sand there and watch her sleep till the sun pressed at the horizon?

Yearning bubbled up in his chest and his hand reached for her of its own accord. The movement of his hand and the sharp pain the came with it caught his attention. Looking down he saw something was attached to the back of his hand. It was clear but flexed too easily to be glass. It took his mind a moment to rediscover the modern marvel of plastic before he could put together that it was an IV drip. Mystery solved, his eyes flew back to Belle.

But the scene before him had shifted. Gone was the leather chair, replaced with a simple, uncomfortable looking, hospital chair. The book was now a glossy magazine. The light in her hair was harsh florescence. Her hair itself was straight, held back in a tight ponytail. She wore a lilac blouse and dark jeans instead of a blue dress. And he would not carry her anywhere.

His hand tightened into a fist, ignoring the pain of the needle in the back of his hand and he closed his eyes. This girl was not his Belle. She had a different name. A different past. She felt nothing for him but the suspicion and distrust that everyone in this town did. Feelings he actively encouraged. It was a simple truth. She. Did. Not. Love. Him.

Pain returned. A knife turning in his chest, radiating though his entire being. Gold fought to breathe through the agony. It didn't matter than he had spent the time since he had heard of her death scouring the magical world for a way to bring her back to him, though not sure he could find the strength to do it if he found the way. It didn't matter than every deal he had made since then had been to give him the power to enact some great work of magic that would give her back her life, free of memories of pain, to live as she had always dreamt. To see the world and bring beauty to it. It Or, failing that, destroy all those that had brought her pain. It did not matter that from that day to this the fire that drove him was _her_.

Images flew around his mind. Memories. Fantasies. Thoughts that he normally squashed before they were fully formed. Now they swirled around him faster than he could stop them…

_Belle is humming to herself, swaying and dusting, alone in her own little world. Rumpelstiltskin watches from the shadows, frowning. His eyes keep returning to her hips. Watching her move makes shivers of energy flow though him. It's…different than anything he had ever felt. The Dark Magic plays around it. Sparking and wanting to make mischief._

_As she approaches his hiding space, the energy raises, overgrowing his skin. Too much for him to hold in himself. With a smirk and a flick of his fingers a foot stool shifts away from wall, into her path. With a little O of surprise, she trips._

_He is beside her in a flash. His hand comes to rest on her waist. Her hands land on his chest, her hair brushes his lips and neck. She sways closer to him as she looks up into his face. The sparks explode over his skin._

_She shifts again and he watches a look of pain flash across her face. He steps back immediately, taking away the pain of his touch. She hops on one foot and he realizes that his prank hurt her. His hands are instantly drawn to her elbows, guiding to her the chair. He kneels and takes her ankle between his fingers, his eyes on hers. She returns his gaze with confidence and trust._

_Rumpelstiltskin knows the Dark Magic. It comes with a price. Always. So he pulls the Dark from the Magic, and lets the gold energy flow from his fingers to her wound. The Dark burns his throat and constricts his heart till he lets it go. The Dark of the magic daces away, looking for something to harm, something of equal value to the gift the Magic has bestowed. He cannot control the consequences as he normally does, he has never pulled the Dark from Magic before. Why would he bother when most of the fun was watching those who begged for his help fall apart as the Dark turned their hopes and dreams to ash? He feels more than sees it seek out his tower room and the potion that he had been working on for a month. In a flash of black-purple it explodes. Irreplaceable components destroyed._

_Her smile is worth the price…_

He pushed one memory away, only to have another take its place…

_Belle brings him his dinner. As she places a plate piled high with health food and a cup of watered wine in front of him, Rumpelstiltskin feigns a look of disgust. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her roll her eyes at him and attempting, and falling, to suppress a smile._

_"So," he says lightly, poking at the greenery on his plate, "At what point did I turn into a rabbit?"_

_Her attempt to suppress a laugh results in a light snort. Covering her mouth and nose with her hand, she blushes a pretty pink._

_"Enjoy," she says, straitening and fighting to recover her composer. She turns to leave…_

And then another…

_Gold holds the chipped cup between his palms, staring out the front window of his Pawn shop. He wonders why he keeps doing this to himself. Holding his pain in his hands like it is the most precious thing in his world. And it was. But he doesn't want to remember, yet here he sits, holding the key to all his memories, all his fantasies…_

The touch as a hand on his cheek pulled him back to the present. He sucked in a breath, filling his head with the soft smell of feminine shampoo. He opened his eyes slowly, bracing himself. Belle – no, Rebecca – leaned over him, her face hovering over his. Concern pulled her eyebrows together.

"Mr. Gold?" her voice was more hesitant than he had ever heard it, "Are you…can you hear me?"

His left hand twitched, reaching for her without thought. His finger brushed her elbow. Her eyes flicked from his face to the contact and back again. Her hand hovered beside his head, as if she couldn't decide if she wanted to pull away or touch him again, "Please. Please, say something."

"What…" Gold crocked. Forcing himself to swallow, he tried again, "what would you have me say?"

Her smile was a little watery, but Gold could feel an answering smile play at the corner of his lips.

A sound behind her from the far side of the room made her turn, but Gold couldn't take his eyes from her. God, she was as beautiful as he remembered. The fingers of his left hand moved again, marveling at the feel of her skin against his. She looked back at him, her smile tentative. He felt like his lungs were being pulled from his body as she stepped away from him. Even his view of her was cut off as Dr. Whale and his nurses swarmed around the bed.

Gold took a deep breath and forced himself to focus his mind. It was hard, due in no small part, he would, guess from the pain killers they surly had him on. It took everything he had not to order them all out of his room. But that wouldn't get him out of here any sooner. Out of here and free. To think, to figure out his next move. To plan.

So, he locked his jaw and submitted to the tedious necessary of medical procedure. And tried to ignore how relieved he was that Miss French remained culled on her chair.

o~o~o~o~o

Rebecca watched from sanctuary of her chair. She had spent a good deal of time over the last two days here. Watching. Waiting.

She'd watched as the nurses changed the large bandage that wrapped around his head and the many smaller ones that covered his chest. It hurt her every time she saw everything he had gone through to save her.

She had waited for him to wake up. She longed to look into his eyes and see if she still felt what she did when she had huddled under him as the house came down around. She had though she wouldn't, and didn't know if she wanted to.

Now she sat there, worrying at her lower lip, trying not to tremble. Not only had she felt it, there was more. The longing that she had seen before, buried deep below the concern and determination to get her out, had filled his eyes. The feel of his touch, totally unnecessary, pulled heat into her chest. And want scared her more was the fact that it felt so right.

Pulling her legs up to her chest, she listened to the doctor as poked and prodded and asked his questions. And hid her smile behind her knees every time Mr. Gold's flicked to her.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> I know a bit shorter this time, but I do have a bonus for those of you who enjoy an M rated story. I have also uploaded the first part of related piece.

Of Memories and Fantasies (story ID: 7965937) will take each of the memories featured in this chapter and follow it up with a fantasy. They are adult in nature. I refrained from putting even the short first draft versions of each fantasy in this story to maintain the T rating.

The first one, Good Trip, is up. Depending on the reaction I get from it and the two others I have mostly written, Dessert and Big Bad Wolf, I may write more. That should feed my need for spice writing and allow me to keep this at its current rating. So, if you are of legal age and enjoy a bit of spice in your life, please check it out.

And a special thanks to ShadowSongAFF for agreeing to Beta for both stories. Thank you, Dearie.


	4. Chapter 3: Questioning

Emma took the stairs a little slower than usual. It had been a long two days. After taking Rebecca to the hospital, she stayed only long enough to find out that Gold was stable but unconscious. He wasn't going to be answering any questions for a while.

So Emma had gone back to the house to start the investigation. So far, she hadn't learned much. There was no sign of fire. No car embedded in the side of the house. There had been no tornado or earthquake. No obvious reason at all for the house to come down. Emma had just finished talking to the building inspector. He hadn't been through the building yet, but his only explanation was that the old building had been hit simultaneously with both extreme dry rot and the worse infestation of termites he had ever heard about, let alone actually seen. It was like it had been a house of cards and someone had blown it down. All and all, an unsatisfactory explication.

A nurse was leaving Mr. Gold's room as Emma approached. Instinctively Emma held the door, "How is he?"

"Demanding, condescending, and sarcastic," the woman said, her expression sour.

"So, he's awake," Emma ventured.

"Unfortunately," the woman said before turning towards the nurses' station. Smiling, Emma stepped into the room.

It was a private room; the best in the hospital. Emma vaguely wondered if he had a standing arrangement with the facility or if they had simply put him here because he was Mr. Gold. If she had to put any money on it, Emma would have guessed the latter. Even his smiles were intimidating. He managed to look intimidating from his hospital bed as he glowered up at Dr. Whale.

"How long do I have to be here?" he growled through gritted teeth. Emma watched, her back against the wall near the door. No need to put herself in the line of fire any earlier than necessary. Besides, she found that she could learn more when she didn't interfere.

"Well…" Dr. Whale looked over the file in his hand, flicking a few pages back and forth, "We should be able to get you out of here in three to five weeks."

"No." Gold's voice is flat, final. Emma watched Whale blanch.

"Mr. Gold, you did some serious damage to your knee," the doctor said, gesturing to Gold's right leg where it lay outside of the covers. It was incased in a large, padded brace from mid-thigh to ankle, with large disks on either side of the knee. Whale looked back to the charts in his hands as he counted, "You don't need surgery yet, but you have to stay off of it for at least three weeks.

"And with all three of the bones in your right arm fractured, and your left collar bone broken, you can't effectually use crutches or even a modified walker," Whale continued, his voice gaining confidence as he went. He used the clipboard this time to gesture towards Gold's upper body. A cast ran from his right hand up to his armpit, and held his left arm to his body with two wide strips of white velcro around his chest. "Combined with your three broken ribs and multiple abrasions and deep tissue bruises. You need care."

"Then I'll hire someone," Gold said, his icy voice dropping the temperature in the room by a few degrees.

"Round the clock care, Mr. Gold," Whale countered, "I can't let you go home unless someone is staying with you."

Emma fought not to snort. That was going to be one hell of a hard poison to fill. She couldn't think of anyone who would want to spend more than a few hours a day with Gold, let alone twenty-four. For weeks.

"I'll stay with you," a soft voice said from behind Whale. The doctor turned and Emma could see Rebecca sitting in a chair behind him, her legs pulled up in front of her.

"Hey, now," Emma said before she could stop herself, "I don't think that's a good idea."

Everyone but Rebecca turned to look at her. Whale's face was open and, as always, a little leering. Gold's was a carefully masked thunderstorm. He was doing his best to hide his anger, but he wasn't quite managing it.

Rebecca's light, self-deprecating laugh brought the room's attention back to her. She still had her head down, not looking at anyone. "It's not like I have a job or even a home to go to at the moment."

Emma couldn't argue with that, but the thought of that sweet, vulnerable girl living with Gold for a month, or possibly more, made all the alarm bells go off in her head. It wasn't that she thought that Gold would try anything fishy, precisely. He'd never shown any interest in Rebecca, or any other woman in town, for that matter. And he didn't seem to be the type to try and take advantage of the girl or force her. It was more that Emma didn't like the idea of Rebecca, who was still so fragile, subject to Gold's temper and moody disposition.

"There has to be somewhere you can stay," Emma said, working through the possibilities in her head. She would offer her place, but it was barely big enough for her and Mary Margaret. And David, who had been around a lot lately. She knew Rebecca and her father weren't close, but surely she could stay there for a little while. "Where were you staying before you moved to the shop?"

Rebecca's smile seemed sad behind her knees, "Regina offered me her guest room again. But I prefer to make my own way."

That made Emma hesitate. The one person who would be worse for Rebecca than Gold was Regina.

o~o~o~o~o

Gold closed his eyes for a moment before looking back to the girl who had just put her fate in his hands. Again. He fought to keep the echoes of the past from overwhelming him. Even still, her voice danced through his head. _– I will go with you. – No one decides my fate but me. – _

Steeling himself to look her in the eyes, he gathered himself to reject her offer. It would be easier for him to stay in the hospital and be looked after by nurses that hated him rather than going home with her. But if his refusal to take her in resulted in her turning to Regina… Well, there were some things he just could not do. And leaving her in the power of that spiteful bitch was one of them. So he found himself saying, "I think we can come to an arrangement."

He watched as some of the tension faded from the edges of her eyes. And tightened around his heart. He didn't like that he had that much power over her. Or that she had that much control over him. Not when he had fought so hard to keep his distance from her.

"Okay then," Whale said, "in that case, we should be able to get you out of here in a day or two."

Gold turned his gaze to the doctor, feeling his expression get colder. His voice was equally frosty, "Today."

"Now, that's…not…" Whale said, stumbling over his words as Gold calmly held his eyes.

"Today," he repeated.

"I…I…" Whale continued to stammer, "I guess that could be arranged."

"Good."

"There are arrangements that need to be made," he continued, not looking at Gold, "Care instructions, medications…"

"I'll deal with that," Rebecca said, gracefully unfolding herself from her chair. Gold couldn't keep his eyes from following her from the room. He mentally shook himself. If she was going to be looking after him he was going to have to get a better grip on himself.

As the door closed, Gold's eyes turned to Sheriff Swan. She stayed against the wall for a long moment, her eyes easily meeting his. He had to give her credit for that. Few people could hold his gaze. His little Curse Breaker had a lot of courage. And more common sense than was good for him.

"May I help you, Sheriff?" Gold said, wanting to get this little confrontation over with.

She pushed herself from the wall and made her way to his bedside. She pulled Rebecca's chair up to the side of bed. Gold couldn't stop the frown that pulled his eyebrows together.

"Yeah," she said, leaning forward in her chair to rest her forearms on her knees, "Care to explain?"

Gold stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate. She just stared back.

_So, that's the game you want to play,_ Gold thought, hiding his smile. _Nice try Sheriff, but I've been staring down bigger and badder than you since before your mother was born._

"You're going to have to be more specific than that, Sheriff," he said, letting distain drip from her title, "There are a lot of things in our little town that could do with a little explanation."

"True enough," she said with a nod, "Then why don't we start with what you were doing at the book store at the time of the collapse."

Gold had known the question was coming and had already shifted through the possibilities to come up with the most convenient lie that would give the sheriff as little information as possible. Simple was normally best. "I was walking by when I realized the building was falling in on itself. I decided to ensure there was no one inside."

"Why didn't you call for help?" she asked.

"I seem to have misplaced my phone."

"So," she said, drawing the single syllable out, "you were out for a late night walk and decided to be a Good Samaritan?"

Gold gave her his best tight-lipped smile, saying nothing.

"Don't get me wrong," she said, leaning a little closer, "But you don't strike me as the selfless hero type."

"There are a good many things you don't know about me, Miss Swan," he said, settling back in his pillows.

After another long moment, she sat back a little, pressing her lips into a tight line and narrowing her eyes at him. Apparently figuring out that she wasn't going to get anything more out of him on the subject, she changed tacks, her voice holding honest puzzlement, "How did you get into the basement?"

"I went in through the front door," he answered simply. This was one question where the truth held no danger, "The stairs to the basement are off the kitchen. Unfortunately when it came time to leave, that path was blocked."

She simply nodded at that. From what he'd seen of the inside before he'd lost consciousness, the house had all but demolished itself by the end.

"Okay," she continued, her face becoming guarded again as she fished in her coat pocket and pulled out a square of paper. She held it towards him, but with his arm restrained against his side, it was well out of reach. "What about this?"

His eyes flicked over the words he'd scrawled in haste while leaning over the hood of the squad car. He forced his heart rate not to speed. The damn heart rate monitor would give him away too easily. He fought not to relive the riot of emotions that had filled him when he had written those short lines. At the time he hadn't known if he was going to make it through the next twenty-four hours alive. He'd almost been right. Keeping all that from his face, he simply raised his eyebrow at her. "It appears to be a note. Surly Sheriff, you are able to read at least at seventh grade level."

"Cut the bull, Gold. Why Rebecca?" she asked, her voice low and quiet. "Why use your precious favor on her? Did you know her before she was institutionalized?"

The last question sent an icy rod of pain lancing through Gold's head. Too many memories flared his mind. And the curse fought back. He remembered Belle and his time with her. And then without her. He remembered the twenty-eight years that followed with no knowledge or memory of Rebecca French. And he remembered the last three and a half months and the memories the curse had forced on him and the rest of the town to explain her sudden reappearance. It was the most recent memory that brought the pain. Or rather the latter two colliding with each other. And Gold refused to accept the change in history. He simply refused.

He forced himself to swallow before answering, "That's a lot of questions, Sheriff Swan. And I am getting tired."

He put heavy emphasis on the last word, his eyes narrowing. She sighed, but seemed to take the hint to answer the questions she really wanted to ask, the questions he was likely to answer, because he could end this little chat whenever he liked. He was, after all, the one in the hospital bed.

"Fine," she said, and flipped the note over, "Care to explain this, then?"

Gold looked at the paper, noting a blood stain the size and rough shape of his thumb. Looking back to Swan, he said blandly, "Paper cut."

"That's a lot of blood," she replied, her face as blank as his, "Must have been one hell of a paper cut."

"Indeed," was his only reply.

The sparkle in her eye and the small quirk of her lips was the first indication that Gold had that things weren't going to go to plan.

"Say like one the size and shape of that head wound?" she asked in a question that wasn't a question, as she indicated the bandage covering most of his forehead with a nod of her head. She smiled when he simply lifted an eyebrow.

Leaning back, she pulled an evidence bag from her pocket and held it up. Inside was his pocket square, clearly stained from where he'd pressed it into the gash in his forehead. He swallowed a curse and felt his hands curl into fists. Her smile grew a little as she took in his agitation.

"Found this in the pocket of your jacket," she said, pulling it back to look at it as if she were studying the stain for the first time, "Which was on the lawn when I got to the house. Which means that you were bleeding before you got there."

Her eyes returned to his, all playfulness gone from her expression, "You want to tell me the truth now? Or do you have another lie lined up for this too?"

Gold quickly sorted through the possibilities, but only came up with one. It left a bad taste in his mouth. Not because it was a lie, he could lie as easy as he breathed. It was easier than telling the truth most of the time. And less troublesome. No, he didn't like the taste of this one because it was the one _she_ wanted told. And if he hated one thing it was doing anything that the evil bitch wanted him to do. But at the moment there was not much he could do about it.

With a sigh, he moved his eyes from Swan to the window behind her, affecting embarrassment, "Very well. It seems I've managed to wreck my car out passed the old toll bridge. My car has become rather intimately acquainted with a tree."

His gaze returned to Swan in time to see a confused look pass across her face. "So, let me get this straight. You crashed your car. Walked back to town. Left the note for me. Then were walking by when Rebecca's place stared coming down on itself?"

"Yeah, that about covers it," he said. He waited, seeing how much of it she would buy. He could back most of it up, as it was more or less true. His car was wrapped around a tree past the bridge. He had even been behind the wheel. But he hadn't been conscious when it happened. The blow from the two-by-four that had caused the gash on his forehead had seen to that.

"Where were you going, Mr. Gold?" Swan asked. She actually managed to surprise him. Of all the things he through she'd ask, that hadn't been one of them.

"What do you mean?" he hedge, not wanting to answer until he knew why she was asking. He was not going to tell her why he had been out passed the old bridge. And he certainly wasn't going to tell her what he'd been doing when he'd been knocked unconscious.

"Well, from where you say you crashed your car, to my squad car, to Rebecca's place, to either your place or the hospital is nowhere near a straight line," she said, drawing a zigzag pattern in the air to demonstrate her point. "Why were you walking past Rebecca's with a serious head wound, on a bad leg, after walking all the way there from the toll bridge? Where were you going?"

He waited for a beat as if trying to remember, "I really can't say."

He reveled in the non-lie. He couldn't tell her. Not right now. The time wasn't right. He had things he needed to do before he could tell the Sheriff how and why he had known something very bad was going to happen to Rebecca. That Regina would have been the cause. And that to stop it, he might have had to die.

He watched her lean back in her chair. She stared at him through narrowed eyes a long moment. He remained as impassive as he could, letting the Sheriff make up her mind about whether or not she wanted to push for more.

After along minute, she pushed herself to her feet, "Fine. I'll get your car towed."

She stepped closer to the bed and leaned over him, bringing their faces close together, her pointing finger just above his chest, "But we're not through here. We will talk about this again."

With that she pulled away.

"I have no doubt of that, Sheriff," he said, giving her his best toothy grin, "No doubt at all."

She nodded and made her way back to the door before pausing and looking over her shoulder at him, "I'll be back later to give you a lift home. Unless, of course, you'd prefer Rebecca to push you across town in a hospital wheel chair."

Gold shuttered at the thought. The last thing he wanted was to advertise his current enfeebled state to the whole town. Were with anyone else they might find the wounds heroic, people in this town loved to hate him. And that amount of weakness he couldn't afford. "Indeed not, Sheriff. I will see you later."

With one last nod, she left. Finally alone, Gold let his head fall back against the pillows that helped prop him up. He tried to run a hand over his face, only to find neither could reach. The left was tied to his chest, the right encased in a cast. With a muffled curse, he ground his teeth together and tried to figure out how he was going to manage living with the only woman he'd ever loved. And could never have.

* * *

><p>Another thanks to my wonderful Betas: FortunesArkHero, ShadowSongAFF, and AffinityFrequency. It never ceases to amaze me how many things one can read over as a writer, and what different eyes can pick up. Each of you was an invaluable help in catching things I missed. Thank you for making my story so infinitely more readable.<p> 


	5. Chapter 4: Homecoming

Rebecca stared out the front windshield of the squad car, not really seeing anything. She clung to the folder full of care instructions, doctors notes, and prescription lists, so tightly that her knuckles were white and the edges of the file where turned up.

Focusing on taking slow, deep breaths, she went over, for the tenth time in as many minutes, why her fears were completely unfounded. They were in the squad car, the last car anyone in town was going to hit. The likelihood that anyone would take this moment to come barreling around the corner in the midst of a high-speed getaway was extremely small. Besides, Police vehicles were built for performance and were structurally reinforced. Rebecca ignored the little voice that told her that that last little bit of information had been deduced from watching reruns of _Cops_.

"How you doing over there?" Emma asked from the seat next to her. She looked over to find her friend giving her a sympatric little smile.

"Um, Emma," she said, doing her best to keep her rising panic from her voice, "can you please keep your eyes on the road?"

She caught the smallest hint of the sheriff rolling her eyes as she turned her face back to the road, "Right, sorry."

She got through her litany twice more before they pulled to the curb in front of a large house. The three stories coral and green house was at once intimidating and oddly inviting to Rebecca. Like the walk from your car to your house in a downpour. You know once you get inside, through the storm, you'll be safe and warm and protected from the world. Rebecca shook off the thought as she opened the car door. This wasn't her sanctuary. At least not permanently.

"I'll get the wheelchair out of the trunk," Emma said over the roof of the car. Rebecca nodded and opened the back door.

"I think the chair will be unnecessary," Mr. Gold growled at her from across the seat. He had been forced to sit sideways in the back, the brace around his right leg kept it stretched out in front of him across the seat.

"Dr. Whale said-" Rebecca started.

"The walk to the front stairs is less than twenty paces," he said, cutting her off, "It would be more strain on my leg to get in the damn thing and then out of it again. My house isn't exactly wheelchair accessible."

Rebecca followed the direction of his wave to the front of the house. The short walk ended at the back of flight of over half a dozen stairs. She idly wondered for a moment if the lack of handrail on the stairs was allowable by city code before returning her eyes and her attention to Mr. Gold.

"Fair enough," she said, leaning into the car and gently taking his lower leg into her hands, "Let's get you out of there."

It took some doing, as it had to get him into the car, but between the two of them they got him out and standing upright. Rebecca tucked herself under his right arm, the cast resting heavy on her shoulders. She looped her left arm around his waist, doing her best to avoid his broken ribs and several different sets of stitches.

By the time they were ready to move, Emma had emptied the truck, piling the bags of necessary supplies from the hospital onto the seat of the wheelchair. She pushed her load up the path, Rebecca and Mr. Gold following behind. Rebecca matched her stride to his, trying to think what more she could do to help him as he hissed in pain with each hopping step.

Emma had pulled the wheelchair up the stairs and set it by the front door by the time they reached the first step.

"Here, let me help," she said, skipping down the stairs in a way that made their halting progress looked even worse. Rebecca wasn't sure how she could help, besides carry Mr. Gold up the stairs, and Rebecca doubted he would let anyone carry him anywhere. She had a feeling it was taking a lot out of his pride to just have her help him as it was.

Before Emma could reach them, her cell phone went off. She sighed and grabbed for it, "That's the emergency line. I got to go."

"No problem," Rebecca said, "Thanks for the ride."

"Sheriff Swan," she said into the phone, waving at them over her shoulder before getting into the squad car and peeling away from the curb.

Rebecca paused at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at Mr. Gold, "You okay?"

"Yes," he said through clenched teeth, not looking down at her, then he sighed, "As good as can be expected."

"Come on, let's get you inside and sitting down," she said, shifted her arm around his waist to get a better grip. The inside of her lower arm and hand pressed into the skin of his side and belly. The walk had worked up the hem of the scrub top he wore, leaving nothing between him and her arm. The heat of his skin against hers felt better than it should have. She tried to ignore the butterflies the touch sent fluttering though her chest. For some reason she couldn't quite figure out her hand splayed out across his skin just above the waistband of the scrub pants, her palm pressed into the warmth of him.

The fact that she enjoyed his touch, let alone sought out more, surprised her. Since getting out of the hospital, human contact always made her feel uncomfortable and confused. She even avoided her father's hugs. She had had so little during her confinement, she didn't know how to deal with it. Even her father's hugs made her want to crawl out of her skin. But the feel of his skin under hers just made her want more. She like it. She liked it too much.

The breath that left him in a hiss and embarrassment added to the heat in her cheeks. Here she was, getting a sexual thrill from a touch that for him was, at best nothing, and at worst completely unwanted.

"Miss French," he said, the pain evident in his voice. Oh, great. While she was indulging in the feeling of his touch, he was standing there in pain. Some caregiver she was.

She pushed away her rioting emotions and, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, put her foot on the first step. She took a deep breath but didn't look up, "Ready?"

o~o~o~o~o

Gold swallowed passed the lump in his throat, fighting to keep his body from trembling. Pressed as he was to Belle's – no, Rebecca's – side, she would feel it. And she was embarrassed enough as it was. He could see the blush in her face. He fought not to thinking about how beautiful it made her look, how much he would love to bring that color to her cheeks under very different circumstances.

He forced away the thoughts as she put her foot on the stair in front of them. Not trusting his voice, he simply nodded and braced himself for the movement. Each step, even before they had reached the stairs, was painful. He had to lean heavily on Rebecca. Each step reminded him how ridiculous his wayward thoughts were. She was a vibrant young woman, and he was a broken old man. By the time they reached the top of the staircase, he was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. But he clung to the pain. The pain he understood. The pain kept him thinking other things. Things he didn't understand.

She stopped them in front of the door and fished his key ring out of her pocket. Half a dozen keys dangled from her fingers, and for the first time since she'd got him out of the car, she looked up at him.

He held his left hand out to her, and she dropped the key ring into his hand. He picked out he house key and leaned forward to insert it in the lock. The movement unbalanced him, and he would have fallen into the door if Rebecca hadn't caught him, pressing her right hand into the center of his chest.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice breathy from the exertion of helping him up the stairs. Gold cursed himself again. She was less than four months out of what amounted to solitary confinement. She had no business hauling his weak old bones up the stairs.

Rather than answer her, he forced the key into the lock and turned the handle, opening the door before them. He tried to take more of his weight as they moved through the entranceway to the sitting room. All that seemed to accomplish was for her to hold him tighter to her side.

When they reached the antique sofa, he sank gratefully onto the upholstery. He didn't let himself feel the loss of her warmth. She crouched beside him, gently lifting his right leg to rest it along the length of the seat. Her ponytail fell over her shoulder as she leaned over him to ease his right arm into its sling.

"So," she said sitting back and looking up at him, her hands on her knees, "Tea. The kitchen is?"

He pointed to the open doors to the dining room, "Through there."

With a quick nod, she pushed self to her feet and made her way around the sofa.

She was half way to the dining room, when she stopped and pivoted on the spot. "I should probably get the wheelchair and close the door first."

He repressed a smile and simply raised an eyebrow at her, "Probably a good idea."

"Right," she said, dipping her head the way she always did back at the Dark Castle whenever she was embarrassed.

The simple gesture sent panic though Gold. He could not do this. He could not live with this girl, who could with a touch, word or gesture force him on an emotional roller-coaster that never seemed to end. His eyes tightly shut, Gold took long breaths through his nose, trying to force his mind and emotions back into the orderly discipline that was normally so easy.

He didn't open his eyes when he heard her push the wheelchair though the room to the dining room and the kitchen beyond. He tried not to listen, to pay attention at all, but his ears refused. The sounds of opining cabinets and the door of the fridge drifted through the room between them.

He turned his head away, forced his mind to other things. Like how he was going to collect his outstanding debts. As much as he liked to collect them himself, liked to remind people who they were to fear, at this point that wasn't likely to happen for a while. He'd have to get one of his men to do it. He was still trying decide who would be the most intimidating, capable enough to get the correct amount, and smart enough not to try and stiff him, when her voice brought into his thoughts.

"Here," she said. He opened his eyes to find her standing above him, holding out two bright red pills in one hand and a glass of what appeared to be apple juice in the other. When he continued to stair up at him, she held the pills closer, "For the pain."

_Those aren't meant for this type of pain, dear,_ he thought to himself. For the most part he avoided pain killers, favoring anti-inflammatories for his knee. The numbness narcotics brought in their wake was too tempting. But it was a weakness he couldn't afford. When matching wits with Regina, you had to keep your mind clear.

But just thinking about pain brought it all back to him. He could suddenly feel every broken bone, every cut, every bruise. Frowning, he took one of the red pills from her palm, putting it between his teeth as he took the glass and let the cool, sweet liquid carry it down his throat. She continued to hold out the other pill, but he ignored it, finishing the juice instead. She stared down at him, a sour look on her face.

"Take care, dear," he said, a tight smile playing on his lips, "You wouldn't want your face to freeze that way."

She glared at him for a moment longer, before closing her hand around the pill, "Fine."

She stood there for another few heartbeats, and for the first time since he'd woken up in the hospital, Gold really looked at her. Passed the memories the sight of her always brought. He couldn't help but frown. There were dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn't slept. Her clothes were wrinkled as if whatever sleep she'd gotten, she had gotten in them. Neither the blouse nor the pants fit well, as if they were not her own.

"I'll put the water on," she said, deftly taking the cup from his hand before disappearing back through the dining room.

He opened his mouth to call out and tell her not to bother, when the doorbell rang. _Who the…_

"I've got it," she called and he heard her footsteps in the hall before the door opened, "Oh, hello."

He heard a muted male voice before Rebecca said, "Right, come on in."

His eyebrows lifted. Who was she inviting into his house? He didn't let anyone in his house.

Rebecca reappeared, two men in blue overalls flowing close behind. Neither of the men look at him, their eyes either on the ground in front of them or on Rebecca. Gold swallowed the rage that flickered in him at the mere thought of someone else lusting after her. He repeated to himself that he had no right to be jealous. No right what so ever.

"I was thinking it would do well here," Rebecca said from the dining room. Her voice pulls him out of his thoughts. It always did. "We'll have to move the table out of the way, of course, but the light is good."

_What is going on?_ Before he can force the words from his mouth, Rebecca came back into the room, carrying the marble cupid that was normally the centerpiece on his dining room table.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice coming out in a growl. He watched a flash of fear shift across her face. His heart instantly regretted his tone, but his mind knew it was the best way to keep her at a distance. But to his surprise, her fear was quickly replaced with a look of determination. She put the statue on the coffee table and turned to face him, her hands on her hips.

"We need to put the bed somewhere, and the dining room is the most convenient," she said, "Besides, it is also private once you shut all the doors. And the bathroom's just across the hall."

His mind latched onto one word and he found he had to swallow before he asked, "Bed?"

She nodded, "The hospital sent over one of those beds that moves. You know, has motors to sit you up and rise up your knees and all."

He blinked at her. "I have a perfectly good bed."

"On the main floor?" she asked, her eyebrows rose in change. Unfortunately it was a challenge he couldn't take on, "I didn't think so."

She stepped up to him, her hand reaching out to rest on his shoulder. He tried to ignore what the feeling of her touch did to him. Tried to stay angry. It was harder than it should have been. Her voice was softer as she continued, cutting further at his anger. "I understand wanting to be in your own bed. And I know you don't like the idea, but Dr. Whale insisted on two weeks of bed rest. We'll reassess then, okay."

"Okay," he found himself saying without realizing it. She smiled and ran her hand down the back of his shoulder before turning back to the dining room. He watched her leave, trying to figure out how she'd managed to get him to agree. And why he wasn't angrier about it.

This was going to be harder than he thought.


	6. Chapter 5: Caring

Rebecca had gotten very good at smiling since she'd gotten out of the hospital. A polite little smile seemed to set people at ease. People rarely looked beyond it to the anxiety and exhaustion beneath.

By the time the bed had been set up and she'd walked the two deliverymen from the hospital to the door she could feel the smile getting a little frayed around the edges. Not that they seemed to notice. They were too busy hurrying down the stairs. One was even taking them two at a time in an effort to get away from her as quickly as possible. No need to spend any more time than necessary with the crazy lady.

She kept her hand on the door, looking forward to closing it, leaning against the wood, and shutting out the world. She was planning on doing just that as soon as the deliverymen made it to the sidewalk. Before she could, she caught a flash of moment caught her eye.

Mary Margaret, dressed in a gray coat and green knit hat, was crossing the street just behind the delivery van, a large paper bag in her arms. Rebecca's smile grew more natural as the schoolteacher stepped onto the sidewalk and shifted the bag in her arms so she could give Rebecca a little wave. Rebecca returned the gesture, one hand still on the door. She liked Mary Margaret. She was one of the few people in this town that didn't judge her because of her past as well as her current problems. She and Emma had been good to her, helping with some of the basic things she found so hard to do. Like do the shopping. They were the closest thing she had to friends. There had also been Regina, but Rebecca was beginning to doubt that that woman was ever anyone's friend but her own.

"Hi," Mary Margaret said when she reached the top of the stairs. She thrust the bag out to Rebecca, "I brought you some stuff. Basic necessities. Some clothes. I hope I got the sizes right."

Rebecca reluctantly took the bag. As much as she could really use everything from a toothbrush to another change of clothing, she hated to take charity. "Thank you. I'll pay you back as soon as I can get some money out of the bank."

Yet another outing to add to her ever-growing list. Pharmacy. Grocery store. Bank. Thrift store. The thought of facing all that, all those people, all the time out in the town, was enough to start a bubble of panic forming in the center of her chest.

"Don't worry about it," Mary Margaret said, waving off her comment, "I didn't spend that much. And what are friends for?"

Rebecca ducked her head to hide her blush in the top of the bag. Yes, friends were supposed help each other. And Rebecca had never been a help to anyone. She was always a burden. Always a drain.

"So," Mary Margaret said, drawing the word out a little. Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "Emma tells me that you're staying here. And looking after Mr. Gold."

Rebecca nodded. "He needs someone. And it's a mutually beneficial arrangement. He gets the help he needs, and I get a place to stay."

"Oh, sweetie," Mary Margaret said, the concern and pity so clear on her face. "You don't have to stay here. You could stay at Granny's-"

"I don't have any money," Rebecca interrupted gently. Granny's wasn't cheap. She couldn't afford to be. Not with the rent she had to pay to Mr. Gold.

"We could come up with something," Mary Margaret countered, her voice still a whisper. "You don't have to do this."

"I do," Rebecca said, softening her argument with a smile, "I want to. He saved my life. It's the least I can do."

"Are you sure?" Mary Margaret said, her expression clearly expressing her doubts.

Rebecca nodded, swallowing her own doubts. She couldn't afford them right now. She just had to move forward. "I've made my decision. It will be fine."

"Okay," Mary Margaret said, obviously no less concerned than when she'd arrived. "If you need anything, let me know…you do have access to the phone, right?"

Rebecca shifted the bag in her arms to free a hand and patted her pocket, her smile a little warmer, "I had my cell on me when I got out."

Mary Margaret's expression brightened, "Good. Then I'll call you later."

Rebecca shut out the late spring breeze as soon as Mary Margaret made it to the sidewalk. She indulged in the feel of the wood behind her back before setting the bag on the stairs to the second floor and heading back to the front room.

She paused at the doorway. Gold sat facing away from her, his right leg stretched out along the sofa in front of him. It gave her a moment to take him in. The teal blue of the scrubs did nothing for his coloring. He did better in darker, richer colors. Deep browns, reds and golds. Appropriate, she supposed, considering his name.

Shaking off thoughts of Mr. Gold's correct color pallet, Rebecca made her way into the room, stepping around the sofa and into his line of view. He watched her as she perched on the edge of the coffee table.

"Friends stopping by to make sure you're not being held captive by the Storybrooke Monster?" he asked, wiggling his fingers and widening his eyes in an attempt to look devious and scary. The fact that he could only do it with one hand made it somewhat less effective.

Rebecca bit back a laugh, but couldn't hold back her smile. "They have cause for concern, you know. You have quite the mean reputation."

"Well earned, I assure you," he said, his own smile playing at his lips. "I've invested a lot of time and effort into that reputation."

"So I've heard," she said, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees, "Which makes your recent actions more surprising."

Gold lifted an eyebrow at her, turning his head slightly in question.

"Rescuing the damsel in distress is not going to help you maintain your beastly reputation," she said, her smile growing to cover her face, "That's normally the job of the charming prince."

"Ah," Gold responded, waving away her comment, "who says I was rescuing the damsel and not stealing her away to my lair to keep her for myself."

"Well, if this is your lair, sir," Rebecca responded, looking around her, "It is a very nice one. Nicer than the lonely tower you stole me from."

A shadow seemed to pass across Gold's features, but it was gone too fast for Rebecca to be sure she saw it. A smirk took its place, "You were in a basement, my dear."

"Details," she said, waving that off. Pushing herself to her feet she continued, "I should finally put on that tea."

"No need," he said, shifting on the sofa.

"Okay," she said, working her lower lip between her teeth, "Then how about we wash your hair and get you into bed."

He looked up at her, "My hair?"

"I can still see bits of ceiling dust in your hair," she answered, nodding, "No need to take that to bed with you."

"Fine, but I need to go to the bathroom first," he said, resignation clear in his voice. Rebecca swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. Only now did she wonder how much help he was going to need in that area. His face softened as if he could read her concern on her face, "Don't worry, dear. I can handle that part myself."

Rebecca let out a quick breath, not even trying to suppress the relieved smile that spread across her face.

o~o~o~o~o

Gold found himself leaning on Ms. French yet again, trying not to be annoyed at her obvious relief. He didn't want to need her help in the bathroom. Even the thought of it was almost too much for his pride to take. But for some reason, the obviousness of her relief irritated him. It was perverse, but true nonetheless.

He did his best not to lean on her too heavily as they headed down the short hallway that ran between the front door and the kitchen. Half way down, opposite a door that led into his dining room, was the main down stairs bathroom.

She opened the door with her free hand, pushing it open before them. Before she could help him into the room, Gold reached out with his left hand to catch the doorframe.

"I have it from here, Ms. French," he said, lifting the heavy cast from off her shoulders. She nodded and stepped out from under his arm. He took two hopping steps into the room and closed the door behind him. Looking down at the porcelain fixtures, he had never been so happy he had insisted on installing a bidet.

When he stepped out of the bathroom several minutes later, relieved and refreshed, he found the hallway empty. He let the door close behind him with a little more force than was necessary. The sound filled the hall and the sounding rooms. He didn't have to wait long for Rebecca to show herself. She appeared in the archway to the kitchen, a towel in her hands.

Her stride was efficient and her smile warm as she approached, "Feeling better?"

Gold could only nod. And try not to remember the times he had snuck into the kitchen in the Dark Castle to steal some of the pastries she was so good at making, only to find her there and have her come towards him as she did now, towel in hand, to shoo him from the room. He swallowed the memory as she fit herself against his side once more.

They made their way into the kitchen. One of his high backed dining room chairs was sitting near the sink, a chair from the breakfast nook sitting off to the side. Rebecca led him to the dining room chair, lowering him gently down into it before propping his braced leg up on the other chair, sliding a pillow beneath his knee.

"Lean forward," she said, and tucked the towel around his neck.

Gold watched as she pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she unwound the bandage from around his head and gently pulled the gauze from the wound. Her hissed intake of breath brought a chuckle from him.

"That bad?" he asked.

She nodded, her eyes still on his forehead, "Over a dozen stiches. But it should heal well enough. Shouldn't leave much of a scar."

"One I'll ware proudly," he muttered, not really meaning to say it aloud. The fact of the matter was the scars were likely the only think of permanence he was going to get out of this whole business. And the thought of a reminder of her every time he looked in the mirror was not an unpleasant one.

She looked at him quizzically, but he didn't elaborate. Instead, he leaned his head back so that his neck rested on the lip of the counter and his head was over the bowl of the stainless steel sink.

She reached out to cradle his head in one hand and started the water flow with the other. He continued to watch her as she adjusted the temperature of the water, checking it against her wrist, absorbed in her task. When she was satisfied, she used the spray nozzle to wet his hair, being careful not to get the wound or his face wet. Gold found himself relaxing into her hand cradling the back of his head, the tension that he had lived with for so long slipping from his body.

All of which returned in full force when she leaned over him to grab the shampoo bottle on the other side of the sink. The movement brought her chest dangerously close to his face. He needed only lift his head a quarter inch to brush his lips against the tip of her breast. Gold's eyes slammed closed, shutting out the temptation, or the sight of it anyway.

But that left him with nothing to concentrate on but the feeling of her fingers massaging the shampoo into his hair. She was gentle, applying the perfect pleasure to his scalp to send fissure of pleasure running down his spine. He fought to keep his breathing level, but couldn't repress the shutter that ran down his body.

If she noticed his reaction, she gave no sign of it, just worked the shampoo into his hair before rinsing it away. She repeated the process again before leaning over him once more. He held perfectly still and tried not to groan when the loose fabric of her shirt's lapels brush his nose. He tried not to imagine what he would see if he opened his eyes. And failed.

The only thing that kept him from grabbing her and pulling her down onto his lap was the fact that he probably couldn't manage it in his current condition. And the thought of how she would react. The idea of her shrieking and giving him a much deserved smack upside the head wasn't the reaction he wanted from her on the first day she spent under his roof in over three decades.

He could tell by the smell that she had moved from his shampoo to conditioner. Only then did he realize that she must have done a bit of exploring and found his master bath. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about her in his private rooms. It was necessary, but just the thought of her anywhere near his bed made his mind go in directions he'd rather they not.

She took even more time working in the conditioner, and by the time she was done, his body had slipped into relaxation without his permission. When she began to wrap his head in a towel he was almost in a trance state.

"Can you sit up?" she asked gently as she helped ease his head back into a normal position.

He blinked open his eyes and looked up at her as she rubbed the excess water from his hair. He tried to read her expression. Light color infused her cheeks, and a little smile played on her lips. The smile she used to have when she was lost in her own world as she cleaned the Dark Castle.

She was so achingly beautiful Gold had to swallow twice to suppress the lump in his throat enough that he could breathe. Gods what he wouldn't give to have this moment under exceedingly different circumstances. Where she was caring for him not out of a sense of gratitude and obligation, but out of genuine affection and concern. Where she felt half of what he felt for her. Where he could gently caress her leg and she would smile and kiss him.

Gold pulled his mind away from that very dangerous line of though. There was nothing good in it. Only the pain of wanting what he could never have. He purposefully sifted his right leg in its brace, embarrassing the pain it sent though him. Physical pain was better than this ephedra emotional longing.

"Almost done," she said, as she quickly began pulling a comb though his hair. She muttered an apology every time she caught a knot, but Gold welcomed the pain, it distracted him from the pure domesticity of the situation. When his hair was lying flat against his head, she stepped back and looked over her work. With a nod, she put the comb on the counter and moved to his leg still propped on the chair. "I'll re-bandage your forehead when you're hair's dry."

She helped him into the dining room and to the hospital bed that had replaced his table in the middle of the room. The table itself had been shifted to the corner, now covered with the supplies sent from the hospital, bottles and bags all in little rows. She always had been neat.

As soon as he was settled onto the bed, the back in the upright position, his knees slightly raised, she disappeared back though the door to the kitchen. Gold shifted a little, trying to relieve some of the ache in his shoulders. The blasted cast was heavy, even in its sling.

Rebecca reappeared after a moment, a large bowl of water tucked against one hip. In her other hand was…oh, Gods, a sponge. All Gold could think was _No Bloody Way_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Due to uncontrollable Real Life events I'm not going to be able to post for a few weeks. I am not giving up on this story. I just won't have the time required to write a chapter for a little bit. The good news is that there is a definite date after which I will have time. At which point I promise the next chapter will be my first priority. So just think of it like a show hiatus and we'll get back on track in a few weeks. Thanks for your understanding.**


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